


Scotch, Neat

by Crownedwithlaurels



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bartender Rey, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is Jewish, Ben Solo is a Mess, Daddy Issues, Developing Friendships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Mommy Issues, POV Ben Solo, Pre-Relationship, Soft Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crownedwithlaurels/pseuds/Crownedwithlaurels
Summary: A politicians wayward son, a bartender with keen eyes, Scotch, neat, and a longing for change.One shot.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Scotch, Neat

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All,
> 
> Just a quick little one shot I couldn't get out of my head. Enjoy!

**Scotch, Neat**

His childhood consisted of being shuffled from one political event to another, his parents both being influential and famous in the circle of political figures, was boring at best. He was a moody child, repressed and oppressed in his stiff and stifling tuxedos, always being told to “Be quiet, stand still, don't speak unless spoken to.” 

To say the relationship between his parents and himself was strained was an understatement. 

It was a wonder he didn't lose it sooner. 

By the age of twenty five, he already had four scandals under his belt. Overdosing on pharmaceuticals, cheating on various models with other well known celebrities, gambling away more money than he knew what to reasonably do with. 

He knew nothing of what home was. Home was an abstract idea of a perfect family, juggling soccer practice and reading bedtime stories. 

Growing up, the most he ever saw of his parents was his mother's dark whisky eyes set into his father's roguishly charming face looking back at him in the mirror. The pink scar from that realization still ran across his knuckles. 

He is hopelessly lost and working his way towards buzzed at a high class hotel bar. He comes here often, after fucking whatever generically pretty model he has on his arm that week, whom he left asleep up in the hotel room he paid for and will not be returning to. 

She is tan and lean, pretty, too pretty for someone as dysfunctional as him. A smattering of freckles that spread across a nose that wrinkles when she laughs at something a patron tells her, as she cleans a glass with the rag in her hand. 

He comes to this bar, this hotel, because he knows she works here. He tells himself the only reason she knows his drink order and has it waiting for him by the time he makes it to his regular spot, is because he's here at least three times a week, and not because she might be genuinely interested in him. 

Rey slides his scotch, neat, over the cool marble bar top, without being prompted when he has less than a finger left in his third glass. She smiles at him, hazel eyes sparkling. He becomes immediately aware of how awkward he feels in his large frame, with too big ears and hair that hangs a bit too long, curling softly at the nape of his neck.  
It’s ironic that with all the celebrities and influential people he meets daily, its this bartender that makes him self conscious and overly self aware. 

It’s only when most of her customers have closed out their tabs and the crowd has thinned considerably when she appears in front of him. 

“Long day?” she asks, leaning towards him. The music playing is just loud enough to need the closeness. He notices the way small hairs have escaped her ponytail, framing her face. He flicks his eyes down to his drink, noticing the shadow of the slope of her neck and curve of her shoulder peek into his glass.

“Yeah, you could say that.” he says looking back up at her. 

“Family bothering you again?” she asks, her head tilting slightly, brows scrunched in concern. 

“No, yes. I just… I’m beginning to really hate every aspect of my life, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know if it can be fixed. The women, the drugs, the alcohol, my parents. There’s so much unspoken between us that I'm not sure the gap can be bridged.” 

He clenches his jaw, muscle ticking twice before he knocks back the rest of his fourth drink, savoring the slight burn of regret in his throat. She grabs his hand and he involuntarily flinches at the contact, solemn eyes flicking up to meet hers before relaxing at the warmth he finds there. 

“I think, if I were a mother, there wouldn’t be anything that could make me stop loving my child. Nothing that would make me not want to give up on them. I’ve never met your mother, but I’m willing to bet an entire bottle of scotch that she feels the same.”

He says nothing but holds her hand a little tighter. 

When she speaks again her voice is soft enough that he strains to hear her.

“Take off the mask, Kylo. Let them see you, not who you’ve created to cope.” 

Her face is earnest in her honesty and concern for him when his eyes meet hers. If she notices the slight building of moisture at the corner of his eyes, she has the grace not to mention it. 

This slip of a girl, with no parents and no social standing in the eyes of the world he grew up in, saw right through him. 

When his mother called, he wanted to be happy at the sight of her name on the screen. He wanted to talk shop with his father like he used to when he was small enough to still idolize the man.  
He wanted Hanukkah with his parents to be something to look forward to. He wanted to bring Rey to meet them someday.

He was going to get his shit together first. He was going to make things right.

How? He had absolutely no idea, but if there's anything he knows to be true, is that his determination outweighed his fear. 

He sets down his empty glass, and stands. 

He holds his hand out to shake hers. She looks puzzled, but stands from her leaning position over the bar and takes his hand anyway. It’s lopsided when he smiles, tugging up on the right before he says, 

“Hello, I’m Ben. I believe we’ve met?”

Her eyes scrunching playfully and her fingers tighten around his hand.

If she’s thrown off by his name change she doesn’t show it. 

“I’m Rey. Perhaps not, though you do look familiar.” her eyes play coy, her teeth flashing with the quickness of her smile. 

His eyes are playful as studies her face, committing it to memory. 

“Ah, I know what it is,” he smiles softly, “You remind me of Home.”


End file.
